


On Lord Voldemort's Secret Service

by inamac



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Crossdressing, Dom/sub, M/M, Rimming, Romance, Rough Sex, Teenagers, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/inamac
Summary: "Make the boy," Voldemort had said, glancing around at his inner circle and singling out his most accomplished agent, Rabastan Lestrange, "Ours."
Relationships: Regulus Black/Rabastan Lestrange, Sirius Black/Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black/Rabastan Lestrange
Kudos: 19





	1. The Death Eater Who Loved Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift for Countess_HP in the HP-Rarities Fest on Livejournal 2009.

_My father, Abraxas, warned me about the Black family. Social climbing Muggle-lovers, he called them, those that weren't as mad as March hares themselves. Certainly there was nothing in what I saw of the Black sisters, or Orion's boys, to make me question his views._

_He should also have warned me about that damn pederast Rabastan Lestrange._

_People forget (if they ever knew) how charismatic - how alive -Lord Voldemort was in those early years. People ask me why I followed him, how I could have been blind to his faults, his madness? It is a question I ask myself - I asked it every time the Mark burned my arm, in those last days. But back then - back in the seventies, when Muggle England was a stewing mess of racial and class rivalry, when the Muggle police and politicians had no control at all over the populace, allowing violence and strikes and acts of pure terrorism, it should have been obvious to anyone in the Wizarding World that Muggles should be treated as a dangerous, infectious disease, best avoided, lest we be contaminated, or, if that was impossible, excised from our society like a canker from a rose._

_You recognise Voldemort's rhetoric? I wrote his speeches you know, in the early days. They were not, in the end, very different from the ones I wrote for Fudge. Or for Potter._

_I tell you this only that you may begin to understand some of the tension of the time. The Muggle world was in social and political disarray. Every Muggle-born or half-Muggle child who was admitted to Hogwarts brought that taint with him. Every pure-blood who was seduced by the technology or the morality of the Muggle world risked contamination. Arthur Weasley's car and Sirius Black's motorcycle were far more dangerous than any Dark artefacts that I had in my possession._

_And Rabastan was dangerous too. He was in my year at Hogwarts, though he was very nearly a full year older than myself. Age never brought him wisdom, though. He did not have the application needed for arithmancy, the finesse for charms, the imagination for transfiguration or the patience for potions. He had charm though, and a ruthlessness that could bend others to his will, even without his skill at hexes. I never knew anyone so fast and accurate with the Killing Curse, not even Bellatrix, who taught it to him. I believe that, not content with luring his brother into marriage, she might have seduced him - if he hadn't spat Gobstones for the other team._

_That was never a fact that bothered Lord Voldemort. His talent was to turn wizards into his tools, and Rabastan was his most successful agent and enforcer. And he was not above using the romance of that position, the charisma of the spy, to recruit others to the Death Eaters - provided they were male. And young._

_That was undoubtedly how he ensnared young Regulus Black to the Cause._

*****

Rabastan Lestrange shrugged out of his dinner jacket and tossed it, together with his crumpled bow tie, over the back of the sofa. The sound brought Regulus Black hurrying from the adjoining kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea-towel.

"You're back late," he said. "What kept you?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with." He stretched, easing the kinks out of tense muscles, and pulled the boy into an embrace. "Muggle business. It's over now. And so is the Muggle. One less to worry about."

"I was worried about you. Are you okay?"

"I'll be better for a glass of Whyte Thysle. And pour one for yourself."

The boy moved to the drinks cabinet to pour the spirit, while Rabastan threw himself down onto the sofa, undoing the tiny pearl buttons on his dress shirt as he did so. Regulus brought the drinks and settled himself in the offered curve of the older man's arm as they sipped.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

Rabastan shook his head, "There are a lot of things we have to do in this job that would horrify the Wizarding public. I don't mean the killing. If pushed far enough even the most pacifist wizard would use an Unforgivable curse. I mean the subtle things: passing as a Muggle, eating their food, driving their vehicles, getting close enough to learn their secrets - even their dirty sexual fantasies. Could you do that, boy? Could you bring yourself to kiss, to seduce, a Muggle?"

Regulus looked up, brown eyes wide. "I suppose... I think my brother may have kissed the Evans girl. She's a Muggle. Is it... very horrible?"

The older man sneered. "The Evans girl may be a mudblood, but at least she's a witch. She knows something of the proper response. I'm talking about people who don't even know what a wand is for.

Regulus's eyes strayed to the eight and a half inches of polished lignum vitae strapped to Lestrange's forearm. It was relatively short for a wand - he'd heard some of the others dismiss it as a girl's wand. Voldemort himself had passed comment on its unsuitability in the hands of one of his lieutenants and suggested a replacement. That had been the only time any of the Death Eaters had seen anything like emotion on Rabastan's face. A look of almost desperate devotion. No one had suggested replacing it again.

Lestrange saw the glance and interpreted it correctly. He slid the weapon from its soft leather sheath. "And you? Do you understand what a wand is for?" he asked very softly, holding the boy's gaze.

"F...for focussing the will of the wizard to cast spells, hexes and charms," he replied, in the sing-song tones of a rote lesson learned.

The other man nodded. "Half right. But there are enchantments you can't learn at school. Things no mudblood-born witch could ever learn. Or wizard, for that matter." He rose, pulling the boy up with him and crossing the room to throw open the door to the bedroom. He inspected the four-poster briefly, releasing his grip on the boy to throw back the sheets and blankets. "How old are you? Sixteen? Past time you learned it then. Come here."

Cautiously Regulus rose to his feet. Rabastan's gaze swept him from head to toe, taking in the unlaced linen shirt and loose drawstring trousers which the boy had considered comfortable enough to wear for waiting around in the safehouse for Lord Voldemort's next task. Rabastan smiled. The boy was not to know that, for him, he was the old serpent's next task. "Make the boy," Voldemort had said, glancing around at his inner circle and singling Rabastan out with his red glare, "ours."

Rabastan intended to carry out the first part of that order. After that he would consider whether to obey the second part. "I think that we should make this a bit easier for both of us," he said, gesturing with the maligned wand.

Regulus gasped as his shirt was transfigured into a tight-fitting bodice, his trousers into a calf-length, tight hobbling skirt, and his undergarments - into close-fitting lace and silk. The sudden constriction made him trip on the edge of the rug and the next thing he knew he was being held in Rabastan's arms.

"Now," he said, "You be the woman - oh don't worry boy, I've only transfigured your clothes. Your manhood is quite safe with me. In fact..." The comment went unfinished as Lestrange's broad hand closed over the bulge that disfigured the front of the skirt. Regulus, already shocked by the unexpected turn of events, gasped and pulled back.

"No!"

Rabastan gave one of his famous lazy smiles, the thin moustache on his top lip curving in a parody of a grin. "The first lesson that any agent learns, that any interrogator must remember, is that 'no' is never an acceptable answer."

"But..."

"Better. I can work with 'but'." His fingers reached out again, this time closing around Regulus' upper arm to prevent retreat. "But this is only a role-play. You wanted to learn how to get close to the enemy? Close enough to kill? Or close enough to make love. There's no difference. How did you think I got my reputation, Black?" Regulus' eyes were very wide now, black pupils reflecting the ornate crystal chandelier as his retreating legs hit the side of the bed and Rabastan pushed him down onto it. "And," he continued, leaning over the boy, "I am very good at what I do."

"I… Oh!" Regulus grunted as his mouth was claimed by the older man's. It was not, he discovered, a bit like kissing a girl, or even that time when Sirius had… Nothing like that at all. He wasn't sure whether the tightness in his chest was the constriction of the corset or the hammering of his heart; whether it was fear of the unknown or desire to embrace it that brought his arms up around the other man's shoulders to press them closer. He moaned when Rabastan pulled away.

"Oh yes. You are a very fast learner. Do you wish to learn more?"

Regulus' head was spinning. He wondered briefly whether the other man had used a charm on him. Something less than Imperius (they all knew what that felt like), but enough to force an acquiescence to something about which he was still unsure. He scooted up the bed on his elbows and tilted his head, gaze fixed on the re-sheathed wand, as dangerous a presence on the man's right arm as the Dark Mark was on his left. "Are you using a spell?" he asked.

Rabastan looked startled. Then he reached down and unfastened the sheath, setting it and the wand on the dressing table. "No," he said. "I don't need charms, or love potions, or threats. Those are for amateurs. Besides, they would be detected by any half-competent Auror. No, Black. If any of us are ever questioned, if any of our – victims - regret their indiscretions between the sheets and turn on us – whether in private or before the Wizengamot, we must be able to prove that they were not subjected to magical force. Seduction is the art of gaining acquiescence freely; of making the victim beg to give you what you want, so that they have no more choice to obey than a house elf." He smiled down at the boy, showing even teeth, white against the redness of lips and black line of his moustache. "So, that is the second lesson. Do you want the next one?"

The pause, and the lecture, had allowed Regulus to think. He was, he realized, the victim here. But was it a role he wished to assume? Was Rabastan giving him a choice, or was he already ensnared? Did he want to be? He realized that if he said 'no' now and walked out of the door he would lose more than his virginity. He was trapped. And perhaps that was the third lesson. Never give your victim a real choice. Ensure that all their paths lead to your chosen objective – and their undoing.

*****

_Do I sound glib? Authorial? Do you doubt that I could know the boy's thoughts? I remind you that Rabastan and I were in the same year at school. Do you really think that such things were not discussed in the Slytherin Common Room?_

_Rabastan's lessons in seduction were not untried – by himself or his fellows. There are those who will testify to their efficacy, and to the feelings that he aroused when he focused that will on his objective. Ask Narcissa. Ask Severus. Knowledge of the fact that one is being manipulated does not give one the power to resist. Only to endure._

*****

"I thought that you were supposed to be teaching me about seduction," Regulus said, gratified that his voice did not break on the words. "So show me this great technique of yours."

Rabastan's smile grew wider. "Oh, very good. Yes, you do learn fast. The next lesson is foreplay. You must find out what your partner likes – and then tease them with it."

"How?"

"Well, you could ask. What turns you on, Black?"

"I liked kissing. Could we…" He got no chance to finish the sentence as his mouth was claimed and this time invaded and devoured. He found himself pressed back hard against the bedhead, felt the knot of the laces digging into the small of his back, and then that slight discomfort was eclipsed by the grasp of a hand on his thigh as Rabastan pushed the skirt up over his knees and opened him to further exploration. "Oh yes!" He raised his hips, pushing into the grip to get more friction. Rabastan rewarded him with the kiss he had demanded, but not on his lips. He gasped at the suction on his inner thigh, moaned as a tongue traced a line of liquid fire up to his balls, and screamed when the damp length of it, cloaked by a thin layer of silk, pressed into his anus.

"Oh yes, you like that, don't you?"

Regulus could only nod, wordlessly. His heartbeat was overwhelmingly loud in his ears, and his gasping attempts to catch his breath were thwarted by the steel and brocade of the corset. He begged with his eyes for more, for the man to stop talking and continue with the exquisite lesson in seduction. Strong hands pushed the skirt higher, so that it bunched at his waist, and ripped the panties from him, freeing an aching erection around which Rabastan's fingers curled with practiced ease.

"And you'll like this."

It was not a lie. The hand working his prick was supplemented by the fingers of the other, slick with his own pre-cum, and whatever lubricant Rabastan had procured during that brief pause, pressing through his sphincter and continuing the delightful work of his tongue. Nothing that Regulus had done in the privacy of his own bed at home or Hogwarts, had prepared him for the exquisite ecstasy that was his first orgasm in the hands, and on the cock, of Rabastan Lestrange.

*****

_In the months that followed I became certain that it was only their affair that kept Regulus in the ranks of Lord Voldemort's followers. Whether Lestrange continued it for his own pleasure or at his master's command only he knew - and, I think, even he may have been unsure. There were times at meetings when Voldemort looked down the length of the table to where the pair of them sat together, with a look almost of jealousy. He began to give Rabastan more and more assignments among the Muggles, and among those pureblood families who were still resistant to the cause. I know that he approached the boy's brother, Sirius, under Voldemort's orders, though there was precious little chance that he would ever join us - it was not until much later that I discovered how much Rabastan's corruption had subverted both boys._

_And not until after the war was over did I understand Rabastan's deepest betrayal._

********

"More!" Regulus could feel the hard shape of his lover's gift branded into his chest as each slam of Rabastan's hips against his own forced him into the unyielding surface of the wall. He would have bruises, but they would be merely a physical reminder of the passion of this moment - the last he would share with Lestrange.

Not that Rabastan knew what he planned, what he had discovered about their Master.

He shuddered as Rab's movements within him finally hit the spot that would send him into orbit. But this time the whiteout of orgasm could not obliterate the memory of last night, of the sudden appearance of his house elf, Kreacher, in his quarters, soaked, coughing, and trembling with fear, fear that young Master Black might punish him for being tardy in carrying out his order to return. It had taken some time for Regulus to calm him, to prevent him from adding more self-inflicted bruises and bites to those left by the inferi, and to extract from him the story of the Dark Lord's actions, and their implications.

If anyone required punishment, Regulus had thought, as he submitted himself to the teeth of his lover at his throat, the grip of sharp nails on his shoulders, the slap of a hand on his arse, a knee roughly forcing his legs apart, it was himself, for believing Voldemort's lies, for allowing the Dark Lord to take from him his innocence, his birthright, and his ideals. He had loaned Kreacher to Voldemort in the belief that the task the elf was to carry out was for the benefit of their cause. Kreacher's tale made it clear that Lord Voldemort's loyalty was only to himself. That their cause was being used only for his personal ends.

And what of Rabastan's loyalty? It had been barely a month since they had exchanged love-gifts. They had laughed over the coincidence of the engraved letters that curled across the silver and enamel of the locket that he had worn next to his heart ever since. RAB, for Rabastan, or for Regulus Arcturus Black. How much had that really meant? Well, he would wear it to his death – he owed the man who had taught him so much, with whom he had laughed and loved, that much.

Even as the older man withdrew and turned him, scraping bare skin against the rough plaster, encouraging him with whispered endearments to lift his legs and straddle those strong thighs, to lower himself again onto the hard, slick redness of his engorged cock, Regulus knew that the tears which tickled at the corner of his eyes were not those of ecstasy or love, but of betrayal and loss.

*****

_Twenty-four hours later Regulus was dead._

_The older Black boy came looking for him, you know. Perhaps Sirius thought that since he was of age, and independent of his family (if sponging off the Potters and that old reactionary Alphard could be called 'independence'), he could persuade Rabastan to pass on whatever secrets Regulus had imparted to his lover._

_He was a fool._

_I have already said that Rabastan was the best at what he did, and Sirius Black, so like his brother in looks, and so cocky and arrogant, was easy prey. Even had the Dark Lord not set him the task I believe that Rabastan would have been more than willing to seduce the boy. There may even have been some reciprocal feelings on both sides as both tried desperately to discover what had driven Regulus to his death. That was certainly the stated objective of their first encounter._

*****


	2. For Our Eyes Only

"What did you do to my brother?"

Rabastan had not expected the ambush, and now he found himself trapped at the end of this alleyway, a wand at his throat and a grip that he could not break wrapped around his own wrist and sheathed wand. "Nothing."

The tip of the wand pressed deeper, wide azure eyes unbelieving.

"Nothing that he did not want. I swear!"

Sirius was panting hard, partly from the exertion of holding Rabastan still, partly in the aftermath of transformation from the dog-form in which he had pursued and trapped the older wizard. A transformation that was not quite complete. He could feel the hairs on his back and down his spine prickling as they rose in response to his dominance. If he had had a tail it would have been twitching.

Rabastan shook his head. "Whatever we did together, it's none of your business, you damned blood-traitor." If he had thought that the insult would goad Sirius into relaxing his guard he was to be disappointed. The bite of the wand was replaced with a strong-muscled arm across his throat. Sirius did not have the light build and Seeker's reflexes of his sibling, but made up for it with the youth and strength of a Beater. With his proclivities Rabastan would have had to be made of stone not to respond.

Sirius seemed astonishingly unsurprised to find the older man relaxing his shoulders against the wall only to get the purchase to thrust the hardness of his groin forward to rub on his tensed thigh. "You bugger," he said. "Is that why he ran off? You were screwing the kid?"

"Jealous?" Rabastan ground out, just before his mouth closed over Sirius's.

And the watchers could not tell whose tongue entered whose mouth in that instant. Or which surrendered first.

*****

_Oh yes, there were watchers. This is not speculation. Rabastan's pensieve memories were a regular feature of Death Eater gatherings in the later months of 1977. How did you think I knew so much about his techniques?_

_Their affair did not last long. Only long enough for Sirius to get a taste for Rabastan's obsessions. He had never shown any interest in witches at school, and I believe that half of the reason that Pettigrew joined us was his rejection by Sirius after the boy had experienced Rabastan's particular brand of magic. And of course, not much later he and all three Lestranges were incarcerated in Azkaban. And what went on in that place is something of which I would rather not speak._

_No one should have been surprised when the first thing that Sirius Black did on his escape was to go to the boy's dormitories at Hogwarts._

*****


	3. From Azkaban With Love

Draco woke with a start, and a pained cry as the involuntary motion jolted his injured arm. His room, windowless like all the dungeon rooms in Slytherin, should have been dark but for the silvery gleam of the ashes in the dead fireplace but the figure looming over his bed was limed in wand-light. He would have screamed, but a rough hand closed over his mouth, preventing further sound.

"Malfoy?"

He nodded, wondering how the stranger knew him.

"You are very like your father." The unspoken question was answered with a speed that suggested legilimency. "I'm going to release you now. Don't scream."

Draco nodded against the pressure, and the hand was removed. The light became brighter, and Draco realized that it was his own wand the man was using, and that he did recognize the face from a dozen newspaper photographs and posters. "Sirius Black!" he exclaimed, only remembering at the last moment to keep his voice low. He pushed himself up on his elbows and took in the full sight of the man.

The photographs had been taken a decade before and the years in Azkaban had not improved him. His hair, long and dark in the photographs, was now down to his elbows, grizzled at the temples, and a tangled, matted mess. His eyes were sunk in deep, dark sockets, a contrast to the yellowish skin stretched over a face that looked more inferi than human. The contrast between the well-fed, perfectly groomed boy and the abused prisoner could not have been more marked.

Black nodded. Draco, caught between revulsion and fascination, swallowed hard. Fascination won out. The man was, after all, a Black, and therefore a relative, and a convicted Death Eater, and therefore a colleague, if not, yet, a friend.

"Did you really kill thirteen people with just one curse?" Now Draco's eyes were round with awe.

"Thirteen people were killed," Sirius said, tightly.

"Brilliant! What was the curse? Dad says you can't use the Unforgivables on more than one subject, so it must be something that the Ministry can't trace. Can you teach it to me?"

"Your father," began Sirius, and then he hesitated before continuing:- "Your father is quite right. I expect that he'll teach you that sort of thing when he thinks you’re ready for it."

Draco pouted. "Dad never lets me do anything interesting. And he's a bit annoyed with me at the moment for doing this." He raised his bandaged arm to explain the statement. "But what are you doing here? Is it true what they say? Have you come to kill Potter?"

"I've come to deal with… someone… who is hiding out in Gryffindor Tower," Sirius said, "and if you want to help you can make sure I'm not found until I've done what I came to do."

A frown screwed up Draco's face – he was not to know it, but the expression made him look both vulnerable and desirable – at least to one with Sirius' proclivities. "You could stay in my room. Mum insisted that I be given a separate room to recover in – in case anyone tries to hurt me again. Of course, no-one in Slytherin would, but Dumbledore lets Potter and his cronies wander all over the Castle without even taking House-points."

Sirius nodded. If Draco had been older, or more experienced in recognizing evasion and manipulation he might have been suspicious, but the thrill of conspiracy, of knowing a secret that the whole Wizarding world was desperate to discover – the whereabouts of the only wizard ever to escape Azkaban was too much temptation.

In the weeks that followed Draco absorbed lessons in spying as avidly as Sirius himself had learned them from Lestrange. He truly believed that in helping Sirius he was doing the Dark Lord's bidding. It was Draco who told him about the Longbottom boy's atrocious memory, and his habit of writing the common-room passwords on odd pieces of parchment that could be Summoned by the most inexperienced First Year. Draco who provided access to the school Owlery, so that the man could send 'gifts' to his favoured godson, Draco who continued to feign injury to allow the man to hide safely in the only room that was not searched, that held no blabbering portraits save the family ones, who would not speak of such things.

He learned other lessons too. He was still on the very edge of manhood, awaking to wet dreams, and to the first itch of body hair, the sweat of arousal, the strange feelings engendered by touches to throat and neck and the tender smooth skin of inner thighs and arms - he was still learning what his body was capable of, and Sirius, far more experienced, and with ten years of depravation in Azkaban to make up for, was only too ready to take advantage of him.

By Christmas, the boy thought the he was in love.

*****

_I have two great regrets in my life. The first is that I had to take my son's memories of that time from him – a time that should have been so full of light and love. I shattered the phial, of course, there are some things that should never be committed to a pensieve. And the second? I will always regret that it was Bella who finished Black, and not myself, that night at the Ministry._

_But the past is another country, as the Muggles say. And besides, the wretch is dead._

_More tea, Contessa?_

~The End~

**Author's Note:**

> Countess_HP asked for "Mild angst, cussing, crossdressing, mild D/s, snark, mistaken jealousy, back in the day (ie Rabastan/Regulus), rimming, rough sex, wall sex, and romance. I'm afraid that the pairings precluded mpreg and happy endings - but I hope I hit some of them. Thanks to L for beta-ing despite being squicked. Greater love hath no beta.


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